


Fugitive

by minaasshido



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, The Agni Kai Ended Differently, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24816526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minaasshido/pseuds/minaasshido
Summary: When Zuko comes to, the first thing he’s aware of is the fact that he’s alone. He’s in the palace infirmary, and every bed except his own is empty, the room around him deadly quiet and dimly lit.The second thing he’s aware of is the searing pain that spreads over the left side of his face.(AKA where instead of sending Zuko to hunt the Avatar, Ozai plans to kill him, and Iroh is having none of it so they escape the fire nation together)
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 316





	Fugitive

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, quick note before we start!! Because this is fanfiction and I'm allowed to do whatever I want, I'm pretending that the comet is coming a year later than it does in the show. That's just so I can space things out a bit better and be able to add stuff in where I want too. I hope it isn't too inconvenient!! 
> 
> ALSO Zuko and the Gaang probably won't be meeting for a while because while yes, this will eventually be a zuko/sokka fic, the ship is not the main focus of the fic because it's more of just a general au. but zukka will still be happening!! it just might be a little bit yet.
> 
> thanks for reading and i hope you enjoy!!

When Zuko comes to, the first thing he’s aware of is the fact that he’s alone. He’s in the palace infirmary, and every bed except his own is empty, the room around him deadly quiet and dimly lit. 

The second thing he’s aware of is the searing pain that spreads over the left side of his face. Immediately he cries out at the feeling. It hurts- it _burns_ , and Zuko’s chest clenches at the thought. Slowly, he turns on his side, curling himself into a ball and squeezing his good eye shut as if that will help the pain. It doesn’t. 

The pain of his wound brings back the hazy memories of how he’d gotten it. He doesn’t remember much- only bits and pieces, but it’s enough. He remembers falling to his knees, begging for mercy. The horror he’d felt. He remembers his father’s cold, harsh tone, but not the words he’d spoken. He remembers looking up at him, tears streaming down his face, and then fire, so much fire. Zuko chokes on the memory and lets out a sob, hugging himself tighter.

 _His father had done this to him._ The realization is almost as painful as the wound itself, and it sinks its claws deep into his chest. Distantly, Zuko registers a thought: at least it’s over now. At least the lesson had been taught, and now he can rest, he can hide away under the covers and let the shame of his humiliation eat through him. How many people had been watching? How many people had cheered when his father delivered the blow?

The pain is overwhelming. Every time Zuko finds himself desperately thinking he can’t take it any longer, time ticks on and seconds pass and he thinks it all over again. He might be shaking. He’s _definitely_ crying.

Eventually he falls asleep, or maybe he passes out. Either way, the next time he wakes is sudden and panicked, crying out as the last remnants of approaching flames fade from his mind. He sits up, breathing raggedly, when suddenly a hand comes from the dark of the room and presses over his mouth.

Zuko sucks in a sharp breath and makes to pull away when he hears a familiar voice. “Oh nephew…” His shoulders slump, but he can’t bring himself to fully relax. The hand comes away from his mouth.

“Uncle,” he manages to croak, and then he breaks off into a raspy cough because his throat is so dry. A glass is pressed against his lips and Zuko gulps it down, desperately thirsty. It’s only when he’s finished that he realizes that he’s in significantly less pain than before.

“My eye,” he frowns at his own voice- it’s distant and muffled, like he’s underwater, but only on _that_ side. “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“I took some numbing gel from the supply cupboard,” his uncle explains, his voice kind and soft. But then his tone turns solemn, and he says, “I’m afraid I must ask you to get up, Prince Zuko.”

Zuko is confused- he doesn’t know why or how he’s supposed to get up. He hasn’t eaten since before the Agni Kai, not to mention he’s injured. But he suddenly notices the bags resting at Iroh’s feet, and the swords he has strapped to his back- Zuko’s swords. He tries to find his uncle’s face in the dim light, but he can only make out the shape of him. “Why?” he asks. “Shouldn’t I rest?”

“The time to rest will come later,” his uncle assures him. “Now is the time to run, for you are in grave danger.” Zuko doesn't have to ask, because a moment later Iroh continues: “I am afraid your father has plans to have you killed tonight.”

The air in his chest is suddenly too thin. Zuko screws his eyes shut, shakes his head. “No… he wouldn’t,” he says. “He’s my father.” Even as he says the words out loud, Zuko doesn’t think he really believes them. The realization twists his stomach into knots.

“My brother has done many things I did not think possible,” Iroh admits gravely, and even in the dark Zuko can feel his gaze on the bandaged side of his face. He suddenly thinks back to the day when his mother disappeared, and how Azula had told him that his father was going to kill him. How even as he’d told himself ‘Azula always lies’ he still couldn’t sleep for weeks after. How his father had always favored Azula, who was just lucky, while he was lucky to be born- how his life was a blessing he was supposed to be grateful for. The room around him feels cold. 

Quietly, he asks, “Where would we go?”

“As far away from this palace as possible,” is the answer. There’s panic rising in Zuko’s chest, and he can feel his heart pounding against his ribs as he carefully moves to stand up. His uncle moves to help him swing his legs to the side of the bed but he brushes him off and stands on his own. When he tries to take a step, however, the world tilts around him and he stumbles to the side. Iroh quickly catches him and holds him up. 

“You’re hurt, nephew” he reminds him, as if Zuko hadn’t already been painfully aware of that fact. “I can help you walk.”

“I shouldn’t need help walking,” Zuko spits out, frustrated. “I’m not the town drunk.” Nevertheless, he lets himself latch on to his uncle’s side. He can sacrifice his pride for a moment, because he knows he won’t get very far on his own like this. 

Iroh leans down and grabs the bags and swords off of the floor and swings them over his shoulder before they take off. It takes a moment for Zuko to realize that they aren’t heading toward the door, but rather, the far wall of the infirmary. He looks up at Uncle, and he must sense his confusion because he says, “We’re taking the servant’s halls.” He presses his hand against part of the wall and it swings open like a door. The servant’s halls are narrow and badly lit, more like fancy tunnels, really, and they can barely fit in side by side. They walk along at an angle, Zuko’s legs sending him stumbling into Iroh like a baby rabbit-deer. 

After a short while they emerge outside of the palace near the front gate. Iroh retracts his arm from it’s place around his shoulders and carefully leans him against a dark part of the wall, setting the bags and swords by his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he whispers, before turning and walking right up to the guards standing by the gate.

“General Iroh?” Zuko hears one of the guards ask. “What are you doing out so late?”

When his uncle responds, it’s friendly and good-natured, not holding an ounce of the seriousness it had when he’d spoken to Zuko. “I have found myself craving a midnight walk. The city is so beautiful under the moonlight, and it would be a crime to leave it unappreciated.”

There’s a pause where Zuko thinks the guards exchange a look. “We’re under strict orders from the firelord not to let anyone leave the premises.” Zuko feels the breath punch out of him at the words- so his father really did want him dead, then? Why else would he close off the palace like this? 

“Not even his own brother?” Iroh bemoans, dramatic. “I assure you gentlemen, all I want is a walk. You may accompany me if you like, to hold me to my word.”

“Well…” begins the other guard, and Zuko knows they’ve won. “He _is_ the Dragon of the West. I don’t think it’ll hurt anything.” The two guards move to their positions and heave the gate open. As soon as the doors set, Iroh is on the guards, sending flames and kicks and punches their way. 

“Hey!” The two guards from the other side of the door rush in. “What are you doing?” Iroh quickly turns on them as well and their yells fall silent. 

His uncle hurries back over to him and picks up their things before pulling him back against his side. “Quickly, we must hurry,” he says, and they hobble over to the gate. Zuko tries not to look at the unconscious guards sprawled across the ground, but guilt eats at him like a parasite. He hopes his father will show them mercy when he finds them. But then again, Zuko thinks bitterly, mercy had never been one of his strong suits.

“We made it,” he breathes as they emerge on the other side of the gates, in the city now. 

His uncle nods, but in the light of the lanterns he looks weary. “We still have a long way to go until we are safe, nephew.”

They’re at the harbor by the time they hear the distant warning bells sound from the palace. Zuko sits down hard on the wooden bench as his uncle pushes their rowboat into the water, staring blankly at the shore as they slowly drift further and further away from it. When the city disappears in the distance, Zuko begins to cry. 

* * * * * 

Iroh doesn’t take them too far with the boat, instead guiding them several miles downshore until they come across a stretch of beach that tapers off into a forest. Iroh takes apart the boat upon their arrival and uses it for firewood that night as they make camp. He says it will help cover their tracks, and anybody sailing by won’t know they’re here because they no longer have the boat in the water.

It takes Zuko weeks before he can walk on his own again. The burn had crawled past his eye and damaged his ear, which Iroh explains is what’s affecting his balance. He spends a good week stumbling around their little clearing like a drunkard, but with Uncle’s help he eventually finds some semblance of balance and is able to work from there. That underwater flatness stays persistent every time he hears himself talk, and he has to tilt his head toward Uncle when he talks so that his good ear can pick up what he’s saying. He doesn’t know if it’s the bandage or just his ear making it this way, and though he hopes it’s the former, he isn’t stupid enough to convince himself that it isn’t the latter.

They begin walking a slow path through the woods once Zuko is well enough; they stay hidden by the trees, keeping the roads in sight and retreating further into the brush when they hear people. It’s slow work, but necessary; they desperately need new supplies. The rations they’d taken from the palace were only so much, and they’ve been living on near starvation portions, trying to make the food last as long as it can. The numbing gel had run out a few days ago, but his burn had begun to heal enough that at least now the pain was bearable. And Uncle had used the last of the bandages he’d brought to re-wrap his wound yesterday morning. 

“We need to find a town for supplies,” Zuko reminds his uncle. His voice is scratchy and it hurts to talk- he hasn’t had water in a while. 

“No, Prince Zuko,” Iroh tells him. “We’re still in the fire nation. If we go into any town, we will be recognized and turned over to your father. It’s too dangerous.”

“Then we’ll starve!” he snapped. “I didn’t escape my father just to die alone in the woods with _you_!” Zuko regrets his choice of words when he sees the hurt flash across his uncle’s face, but he stubbornly does not apologize. He just wants Iroh to see that they _need_ to go into town for food. It’s not like either of them can hunt, and frankly, they’re running out of time.

“We will get our supplies,” Iroh assures him, and he sounds as calm as ever in the face of Zuko’s anger. It only serves to make him feel guiltier for losing his temper. “Where do you think I have been leading you for the past week?”

Zuko doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. In all honesty, he hadn’t realized that they were walking toward anything. He’d only been focused on getting as far _away_ from the palace as he could, and he’d assumed that was a mindset he shared with his uncle. Clearly, it wasn’t, and clearly, his uncle was one step ahead. Just like he’d been the night of their escape. 

He doesn’t speak after that, not even to complain, because his throat is so dry that even swallowing hurts now. His legs are sore and he’s sweating, but Iroh keeps going so he does too. They walk for three painfully long hours until suddenly Iroh announces, “Ah, we’ve made it.” Zuko blearily looks up- they’re nearing the edge of the forest, a large open space ahead of the trees. There’s a path that leads up to a large, walled-in house with a pair of huge doors at its front, with a strange, familiar looking design painted on the wood. Zuko blinks at the sight.

“We’re going _there_?” he asks, disbelieving. Whoever lives there is clearly rich and important, and that means they’re probably very loyal to his father. He can’t imagine a surprise visit from him and Iroh will be very welcome. 

“Yes,” Uncle says, like it’s not an issue at all. He keeps walking, past the trees and up the path and Zuko scrambles to follow. They approach the house- the mansion, really- and once they make it to the doors Iroh knocks like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Zuko sends a prayer up to Agni that he does. 

After a minute, the door cracks open just enough for a large, graying man to stick his head through. He looks rather bored, but then his eyes land on Iroh and they widen, and then he sees Zuko and he looks suddenly pale. Zuko resists the urge to throw up- he doesn’t even think anything will come up if he does. The man, who he thinks must be the butler of whoever lives here, quickly steels himself and asks, “May I help you?”

Iroh nods like he hadn’t noticed the butler’s reaction to their presence. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out, reaching to give it to the other man. “Could you please give this to your employer?” he asks kindly. The butler’s poker face slips again, this time revealing shock, and Zuko catches a glimpse of the object passed between hands.

“Of course,” the butler says, and then the door is closed again. 

Zuko turns to his uncle. “A pai sho tile?” he asks, frowning. “Why would you give him a pai sho tile? How is that supposed to help anything? He clearly knows us, uncle!”

“Not just any pai sho tile,” his uncle tells him. When Zuko opens his mouth to argue, he says, “Trust me, Prince Zuko.” Frustration and impatience bubble hot in his chest, but he clamps his mouth shut and works his jaw in silence. It’s not ideal, but he’s prepared to run if he has to. And he might have to. 

They wait in silence for several minutes and Zuko starts to get antsy. They’re so exposed, out in the open just standing at the end of the path like this. He’s just about to say something when the doors open again, and this time the man who appears is clearly the owner of the house. He has dark hair pulled back into a neat bun and a beard that runs around his mouth in a circle. He’s older, but not as old as Iroh. He stares at the two of them, less shocked looking than his butler but still clearly not having been expecting them. After a moment of silence, he turns to Iroh.

“You’re a member of the White Lotus?” he asks, suspicious. 

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Iroh suggests. It’s friendly, but Zuko can hear how serious he is too. “You have a pai sho table, I assume?” 

The man nods, and his gaze drifts to Zuko. He stares, and it’s discomforting, so he averts his eyes and stubbornly glares at the ground, arms crossing over his chest. He makes sure to turn his bandaged side away, though he supposes it’s futile. It’s not exactly something he can hide. 

“Come in,” says the man, and the gate opens a little more so that they can step through into the estate. Zuko does so a bit reluctantly, but he tries to stay close to his uncle’s side. The giant doors slam shut behind them and he can’t help but flinch at the noise. 

The man leads them inside to what looks like his living room where he sits down across from Iroh at a pai sho table. “May I have this game?” his uncle asks, ever so polite, and there’s a small smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“Yes,” says the man, and he places his first tile: the lotus tile, the same one that his uncle had had the butler bring to him. 

Iroh has the next move, and the two men take turns so quickly that soon Zuko realizes they aren’t really playing the game- they’re placing the tiles in the shape of a flower (a lotus flower, he thinks) with all the tension of a high stakes game. It doesn’t take very long at all, and when the flower is complete, the man looks at Iroh appraisingly. 

Finally, he says, “It’s always good to meet a fellow member of the White Lotus, Iroh,” and he _smiles_ , catching Zuko off guard. 

The two men stand and Iroh bows politely, actions mirrored by the other. “The sentiment is returned, Piandao,” he assures the other, and belatedly Zuko thinks to bow as well. It’s a little wobbly, but it should do. When he rights himself again, the man- Piandao, is looking between him and Iroh.

“To what do I owe this visit?” he asks. 

Iroh gives him a smile. “We seem to have gotten ourselves into a bit of trouble,” he admits sheepishly, like they hadn’t been on the run from the firelord for the past month and were instead caught up in something far more trivial. “I was hoping you could help us get some supplies? We can’t exactly go into town ourselves.”

“Of course,” Piandao says. “Whatever you need.”

“We can compensate you, of course,” Iroh adds on, and Piandao waves the suggestion away with a dismissive hand.

“Nonsense,” he assures them. “You are my guests here.” Then he turns. “Fat!” he calls, and for a horrifying moment Zuko thinks he’s still speaking to Iroh, until the butler from earlier appears at their side and he realizes that that’s the man’s name. _How unfortunate,_ he thinks to himself. “Please show these two to the guest rooms. They’ll be staying for a bit.”

Fat nods, looking to the two of them as if to ask if they were ready. “Thank you,” Iroh says again. “I promise we will not bother you for long. Your generosity is much appreciated.”

There is a beat of silence, and then a sharp nudge to Zuko’s side. He whips his head to look at his uncle, who is gesturing toward Piandao not-so-subtly with his chin. Zuko feels himself flush at his own rudeness and he turns to the other man, bowing deeply for the second time that hour. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he says in a rush, stiff and awkward.

“Of course,” replies Piandao, subtly amused. 

Zuko and Iroh follow Fat to the guest rooms. There’s one for each of them, but Zuko stays with his uncle and sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress as Iroh sets their meager belongings on the desk. Two nearly empty bags with the remains of their food, a small chest full of gold pieces, a knife, and of course, Zuko’s swords. 

Fat leaves and comes back with a jug of water and two cups. Iroh respectfully pours himself a glass but Zuko forgoes it and drinks straight from the jug, some of the water spilling over onto his shirt. He doesn’t care that he probably looks barbaric. He’s too thirsty to be self-conscious about what anyone else might think of him. 

Before he leaves, Fat tells them that dinner will be ready in a few hours. He and Uncle indulge themselves on the last of their rations to quell their hunger until then, though it really isn’t much. Zuko finds himself grateful that they’d gotten here when they did. Even a couple days more and they both probably would have died in the woods of thirst and hunger without anyone knowing. 

Suddenly, Zuko is struck with a thought. What does the rest of the fire nation think happened to them? He and Iroh had disappeared in the night with no warning, no note- not that it would have made a difference. Probably, it would have made their escape all the harder. But what does the rest of the fire nation know of that night? Did his father tell everyone he was dead? That he’d been sent to the colonies? Or was he a fugitive, an enemy of the state? He doubts that it was the truth that had been told. He wonders, is he being hunted or mourned? Just the thought of either makes him queasy, and he doesn't think he wants to know the answer. He looks over at his uncle, sitting peacefully and sipping his glass of water. He’d risked everything to get him out, and now he was probably just as much of a fugitive of the fire nation as Zuko. Guilt surges through him all at once, making him nauseous. 

His uncles must notice some sort of look on his face, because he says, “Get some rest, Zuko. You need it.”

Zuko is too tired to argue, and so he just flops backward onto the bed, not even bothering to climb under the covers. It’s so soft, and it’s the most comfortable he’s been since before the Agni Kai. “You too, Uncle,” he says, eyes closing. He thinks he hears his Uncle leave the room, and soon after, he’s falling asleep, exhaustion finally taking him over. 

* * * * *

Zuko wakes up to the early morning sun shining through the window of the guest room and Fat setting a breakfast tray heaping with food on the table next to his bed. He sits up, blinking confusedly at the room around him. “I missed dinner.”

“Your uncle didn’t want to wake you,” Fat tells him. “He said you needed the rest.”

Clearly he had, if he’d slept from mid afternoon yesterday all the way until breakfast. “I guess I did,” he mutters, before the smell of the breakfast hits his nose and makes his mouth water. He quickly reaches over and grabs one of the fruits, biting into it and nearly moaning from how good it tastes. He’d been living off of dried food rations for a month- this was so much better than any of that. He scarfs down the fruit, and it’s only once he’s halfway through a sweet roll that he remembers that Fat is still there, watching him. Eyes widening, Zuko belatedly says, “Thank you,” through his full mouth of food, so it comes out more like ‘fank oo’. What a prince he was. 

Fat nods, not seeming all that offended by his horrific manners. “Would you like me to redress your wound?” He doesn’t skirt around it like Zuko had expected him to, and he can’t tell if he likes or hates it. 

He pauses, thinking about it. Hesitantly, he says, “Yes,” and then hurriedly adds a “please,” in response to the flat look Fat had given him. 

He forces himself to ignore the rest of his breakfast as Fat comes closer, reaching for his bandages. He carefully unwraps the dressings from around his head, and when it falls away the gauze over his eye stays in place. Zuko holds his breath as the man slowly peels it away- it sticks to the wound a bit so it stings, but he bites his lip hard so he doesn’t make a noise. He watches Fat carefully for any sort of reaction, but the man’s expression is carefully schooled into that of indifference. 

As Fat leans down to prepare the new bandages, Zuko catches sight of a mirror on the wall over his shoulder. Suddenly he asks, “Can I look at it?” When Fat looks up at him, eyebrows raised, he clarifies, “My burn.” He doesn’t really need to ask permission but he still feels like he should, for some reason. He thinks maybe he’s hoping that Fat will tell him no so he has an excuse to ignore his own sick curiosity. 

Fat does not say no. He coolly says, “If you wish to,” and continues fussing with the bandages on the nightstand. Zuko gulps. Awkwardly, he stands up and makes his way to the mirror, avoiding looking at it even once he’s standing right in front of it. He knows it won’t be pleasant. He knows it’s going to be ugly, and all over the side of his face, but… he needs to know. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to meet his own eyes in the mirror.

It’s awful. It stretches from just next to the side of his nose over his eye and upper cheek, all the way past his shriveled ear. His eyebrow is seared off. The wound itself is an angry pink, all pus-y and shiny in the light. It’s cracked in some places, bumpy in others, wrinkled and- Zuko can’t take it. He looks away. He can’t hold back the sob that climbs up his throat, and then something else is making its way up his throat and he rushes to grab the water jug left over from the night before and bring it to him, heaving up the contents of the breakfast he'd just eaten. His hands are shaking.

When he looks up, Fat is looking at him with a sad look in his eye. Suddenly angry, Zuko wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and snaps, “I don’t need your pity.”

Fat does not look amused. He doesn’t deny the accusation, but he does hold up a canister of burn cream and raises his eyebrow. “May I?” 

Zuko stews in his anger for a few moments longer before reluctantly grumbling out a quiet “Yes.” Awkwardly, he walks back over to the bed and sits down, closing his eyes. There’s a moment where nothing happens, and then cool sludge is touching his marred skin and being spread with fingers. It’s odd, because it both stings harshly and feels distant and muted. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the fingers pull away and he exhales loudly. Fat presses a new piece of gauze over his eye and wraps a bandage around his head to keep it in place, and once it’s secure he turns to leave. He’s almost out the door when Zuko stops him.

“Wait,” he says, his voice sounding small and pathetic to his own ears. Fat turns and looks at him questioningly. He swallows the lump in his throat as he asks, “Can you help me cut my hair?”

Fat obliges, leaving to grab a knife before he comes back. He spreads a towel on the floor and sits Zuko down. His hair had already started to grow out, short and prickly, but his long ponytail still remained. Fat made quick work of it, using the sharp blade to slice it off and attempt to even out the remains with the rest of his short hair. It probably wasn’t perfect, but it was better than what it had been. Neither of them talk during the haircut, and neither of them say goodbye when Fat leaves afterward, Zuko’s hair thrown carelessly into the jug he’d thrown up in, which was probably going to be thrown out now. 

Zuko stays in the same spot on the floor for a long while after Fat leaves. His head feels lighter without his ponytail, but weirdly he feels like he’s just lost a part of himself. The image of his own wound is stuck in his mind. He doesn’t feel very hungry anymore.

* * * * * 

They stay at Piandao’s house for only a few days before Iroh announces that they must be moving on soon. Piandao packs bags for them- unfortunately, more dried food to last them for rations, but also bread and cheese as well as some fruits and vegetables that they’ll have to eat first so they don’t rot. He gives them each a set of clothes that are less conspicuous than the fancy, royal ones they’d left in. They also have new passports- Zuko’s says his name is Lee, and Iroh is officially a man named Mushi. Iroh vigorously thanks Piandao and Fat for their help, and Zuko bows to the both of them. He manages to give Fat a weak smile, and something warms in his chest when the gesture is returned. 

As they walk down the path back to the forest, Zuko asks, “Where will we go now, uncle?”

“Now,” his uncle says, curling a comforting hand around his shoulder, “We get out of the fire nation as soon as we can.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey. The world is awful atm, and I want to use this fic as an opportunity to reach out to people I normally wouldn't be able to with just my insta/snap. I'm adding a link at the end of this note that will take you to a page with resources on how to help with the Black Lives Matter movement: places to donate, people to contact, petitions you can sign, etc. PLEASE take the time to at least sign a few petitions- it takes about 30 seconds for each one. Every name and every penny counts- the change starts with us. Also, if you would like to donate but can't because of your financial situation, I will also link a few youtube videos that are donating ALL ad revenue to a variety of organizations/causes related to the BLM movement. There are TONS of these videos on youtube right now. You don't even need to watch the videos- just keep the tab open and play the video while doing other stuff, and make sure not to skip any of the adds/don't mute the video itself (turn the volume off on your computer instead). Thank you.  
> WAYS TO HELP: blacklivesmatters.carrd.co  
> STREAM TO DONATE: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bCgLa25fDHM  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1HTgJzZAYnE  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oObsw2pAq_w  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=slbNdBuQzKw&list=TLPQMDQwNjIwMjDNaEpYB2FuOg&index=4


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